Hold On
by The Immortal Captain
Summary: WillxWarren The gang return from summer vacation, and Will suddenly wants nothing to do with any of them. It is left up to Warren to figure out what is troubling him... and test the boundaries between love & friendship and good & evil...
1. Prologue

**Title: Hold On **

**Author: **Death by Vista

**Author's Note: **Ok, everyone, this is the first fanfic I have ever posted. I hope everyone enjoys it!

**Rating: **Mature (language, rape, and suicide)

**Summary: **Will comes back from summer break completely transformed. He refuses to speak to anyone, and it is left to Warren to try and get his best friend back. Takes Place the beginning of Sophomore year. And yes, it is a male/male pairing.. Don't like it, don't read. R&R appreciated, though no flaming. Constructive criticism only! And of course, a good bit of compliment never hurt anyone…. ;D

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own any of these characters. They are the property of Disney…_

Prologue

Freshman year was a wild ride… a harsh way for Will Stronghold to begin his first year at Sky High. It was like something straight from a movie, actually. Upon arriving at Sky High, he meets the nemesis he never knew he had. He then proceeds to fall for a villain that had actually been fought once before by his Parents! In the end, he hooks up with his best friend Layla, and his nemesis Warren Peace becomes his best friend. Yup, life could be pretty chaotic sometimes.

Unfortunately, after spring break, everything had changed. The end of school was approaching, and everyone was beginning to drift apart. Ethan had found some mysterious counterpart that he spent all of his time with. Zach and Magenta had finally gotten over their differences, and begun to date. Warren Peace had, strangely, become a centralized part of Will Stronghold's life. The once arch-enemies were now best friends, and any time Will was not sleeping, or with Layla, he was with Warren.

Layla… what could be said about the quirky young lady he had hooked up with during the Homecoming dance? She was awesome… the greatest friend Will had ever had! She knew his every mood, and for the most part, how to sooth him when no one else could. Of course, that was her role in the group. They all filled a specific niche within their 'gang.' Layla was the caring, motherly type. Magenta was the voice of reason. Her deadpan, no holds barred delivery was just the thing they all needed. Zach was the adorable comic relief… even Warren, though he would never admit it, tended to smile inwardly when Zach was around. Ethan was the stereotypical wiz kid that made sure everyone got their homework done on time. And, that each assignment was at least marginally correct. Will and Warren… they were the protectors of their group. No one would ever hurt their friends as long as they were around.

But now, all of that was changing. Spring break hadn't been anything special, mind you. In fact, they had all spent it pretty much the same way they usually did… everyone met at Will's house, played games, and generally chilled. Magenta, Ethan, and Layla sat on the couch, discussing whatever new political issue Layla was caught up on, while Zach bounced around idiotically in the background. Warren and Will would kneel together before the TV, battling each other in Will's newest X-Box game, grunting, muttering, and insulting each other's ability.

But, the weekend after Spring Break, it all stopped. For no particular reason, they all just seemed unable to get their schedules together, and drifted apart. Well, all accept him and Warren. They still indulged in late night study sessions, and video game battles. In fact, it had gotten to the point that Will was seeing more of Warren than his girlfriend. It seemed, no matter what was going on, Layla had other plans.

And then, the summer came on, and Will was not too surprised when Layla sat him down one day, and declared it was time that they broke up. There had been tears from both of them, and plenty of promises that no matter what happened, they would continue to remain friends. After all, they had been friends long before they had attempted a relationship, and it would be rather idiotic for either party to discontinue the friendship at that point.

When school ended, they had all gone their separate ways. Ethan was unreachable, having been shipped off to some computer nerd's camp, though Will secretly thought whoever Ethan had taken a liking to was probably attending as well. Zach and Magenta spent most of their time going to movies, and generally being all couple like. Of course, when the group heard that Will and Layla split, it did not come as a shock when they both went away, to separate locations of course, for Summer break.

Which leaves Warren. Now, while it may be true that our poor little pyrokinetic had once been used to the lack of annoying friends, he had become rather dependant on the group that clung to him all day long. So, when he realized that everyone was practically abandoning him for the summer, the last few days of school had seen him acting cool and distant from the lot of them. So much so, he had at first declared that he would be far too busy to say good bye to Will… but, of course, that had not lasted. He found himself trudging up the Stronghold sidewalk, knocking forlornly on the door. When Will opened the door, Warren felt his stomach turn a treacherous back flip.

"Warren? I thought you said you'd be busy…" Warren shrugs his shoulders as indifferently as he can, and flashes a ghostly, beautiful lopsided grin…

"What can I say, Stronghold? I got bored, and all of the others have already split. Figured I might as well come and say bye… gives me something to do." Will rolls his eyes, and steps to the side, letting Warren brush in past him. The year younger brunette may have super strength, but he was not inclined to use it on Warren unless he was pissed… and rarely even then. Will releases a soft, inaudible sigh and shuffles into the kitchen where his best friend has already helped himself to a soda, and was seated comfortably at the table.

"So tell me, Stronghold… what the hell did you do to make the hippie break up with you? I mean, come on… she's sweet, pretty, and can actually put up with your massive immaturity. What did you do?" Now, Warren was, obviously, not know for his sweet demeanor. You did not have a Super Villain father, and a Super Hero Mum, and grow up all hugs and puppies on Christmas. No, you tended to grow up angry, and vulnerable… and very quick to use harsh words, even in affection. Will was one of the few that could actually understand the difference between angry and concerned when it came to the hothead. Will groans softly. Warren was the last person he had expected to question the break up. He lifts a hand to run fingers through the feathery mop of his light brown hair, and plops gracelessly into the kitchen chair next to Warren.

"Hey man, I did nothing wrong, ok? So don't try and throw the blame on me. We just… we weren't working out. End of story." He grunts, his voice unusually cool as he addresses his friend. Of course, Warren frowns slightly at this strange change of tone. Not that he would address it or anything. To admit he realized something was bugging Will, was to admit he knew Will enough to know the kid was bummed. So instead, he sips his soda and shrugs.

"Whatever, Stronghold. So, where are you headed for the Summer?" Will shifts in his seat. Their current position was the same position they adapted anytime they sat together. Legs splayed, and knees touching in companionable comfort. Unless they were on the couch, then normally they sat shoulder to shoulder. Anyways, Will shifts suddenly, his knee leaving Warren's without a second thought as he straightens in his chair, and allows his cheek to fall gently against the cool table top. Now, Warren would never admit, but the loss of Will's knee against his was far too tangible. Why had he pulled away?

"Dunno yet. Depends on what my Parents decide. I'm just happy they trust me enough to let me take a vacation on my own." He smiles slightly, and Warren is left wondering why something that should be such a happy declaration is so stifled and withdrawn. What the hell was wrong with this kid?

"What fun. Mommy and Daddy finally letting their poor baby boy out." When Will does nothing more than merely roll his eyes, Warren begins to scowl. That should've at least earned him a good punch to the shoulder. Had he stepped into the Twilight Zone or something? It was usually Will doing everything he could to get a rise out of the hotheaded teen. When had the role reversed?

"Can it, Peace. I'm not in the mood. Anyways… I need to go finish getting packed. I'll call you later or something." And then, without even waiting for Warren to say bye, Will stands and walks dejectedly from the room… leaving Warren rather dazed, trying to figure out what had just happened…

And thus was the beginning of the most horrible Summer of Will's life…


	2. Chapter 1

Author's note: As always, please R&R! Thanks!

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters!

Chapter 1

No one particularly likes the first day back to school after Summer break. So, it would be surprising to know that Warren Peace was actually looking forward to it. After all, it was the first day he would get to see Will and the rest of the gang in almost two months. Unknown even to himself, Warren had subconsciously begun to wonder how he had ever survived so long without some form of friendship. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while everyone was gone. Every day was lived in the monotony of work, food, reading, and sleep. On more than one painstaking occasion, he had found himself looking eagerly toward the door of the Paper Lantern, expecting to see Will or Layla trudging through the door. But no such luck.

Each enchanting ring of the small, silver bells above the door proved a painful reminder of how utterly alone in this world he was… how vulnerable he had become when he let Will and the others in. And, of course, part of him wants to hate Will for introducing such a weakness into his life. But, it's just not something that he can hold against his friend… because Warren has had a revelation. Having friends has made him three times more powerful than ever before. He now has goals… reasons to better himself. And even though his temper is still anything but stable, he doesn't fight as much. When he stops to think about it, he knows that this is because of his best friend as well. Will… Warren's voice of reason.

So, is it any wonder when Warren boards the bus for school, that he slips into the front seat? Though he manages to remain stoic, his insides try to back flip and solidify all at once. He _is_ lucky enough, however, to be the last student boarding the bus on this route. Next stop, school, Will, and his friends.

The bright, sunny sky does not grate his nerves as it was prone to do. In fact, he finds them almost… well, he would _never_ use the word cheery, but that is how they made him feel. The sleek yellow bus finally rolls to a complete stop upon the flat ground of the floating island school above Maxville. Warren is the first one to stand, stalking to the door, and waiting for the decrepit driver to wrestle the door open. Making sure his "Fuck-You-Very-Much" façade is in place, he steps nonchalantly off the bus. Slowly, he allows those depthless pools of dark brown to sweep the quad in search of any of his friends, his unreceptive demeanor keeping everyone away from him. His stomach leaps somewhere in the vicinity of his throat when he is unable to locate any of them. What had happened over the summer? Had they finally decided to ditch him? It was a tangible fear that was trying to slowly drive him insane.

"Warren!" The breathless desperation with which Layla calls his name causes him to tense, muscles taut and fingers splayed, ready to leap into action should something be wrong. Of course, it is taking every last ounce of his new-found restraint not to power up, and ask questions later. Of course, the endless amount of agitated concern in her eyes does not help the situation.

'Heya, Hippie." Was that really his voice sounding so… so… gentle!? Apparently so, considering the sudden flash of confusion to pass through Layla's green eyes. Thank god she does not acknowledge the fact, saving the hotheaded teen further embarrassment. Layla begins to fidget where she stands, her eyes casting furtive glances in so many directions, that Warren feels momentarily dizzy. Whatever was wrong, it must be major to have the laid back girl so agitated. He feels his stomach drop to the vicinity of his knees, fear eating at his self control. Traitorous emotions!

"I'm worried about Will, Warren. I know we broke up and everything, but he has been really distant this summer. I haven't heard from him in almost two weeks! And I still haven't seen him come home. And he wasn't on the bus this morning, and I'm really worried!" As she rants, her voice soft and yet high pitched, he feels something inside snap. In fact, he is taken by surprise when he feels the sudden tingle of his power, feels the flames licking his palms in that familiar sensation. He grunts softly… he has to concentrate so hard to put his flames out, that his vision is momentarily eclipsed.

"I'm sure it's nothing, hippie. I talked to him less than a week ago. He's probably just late or something!" He snarls the words more fiercely than he meant to. He sidesteps the teen, her wince of pain not even able to illicit an apology as he stalks toward the doors of the school. With each step, it felt as if something heavy and unforgiving was lodged within his chest, trying to rob him of breath. Less than five minutes ago he, Warren Peace, had actually been excited about something! Now, he regrets even getting up this morning! Unable to cope with the thought of having to face the normal whispers and fearful gazes of his fellow students, he retreats to the gym. It would be nicely deserted at this time. Besides, it was one of his two favorite places on campus. The cafeteria, of course, being his favorite. Because while he sat at the table with Will, Layla, Zach, Magenta, and Ethan, he is never judged, and he has nothing to prove.

The gym doors open suddenly, Warren stalking angrily through them. He knows he has a bad temper, and almost always knows the reason behind each and every outburst. But at this moment, he can't think of a single reason for the anger that is trying to cripple him. So preoccupied with his thoughts, Warren does not immediately realize that he is not alone within the gym. That is, not until he hears the sudden squeak of trainers in the slick gym floor. He spins toward the bleachers, features contorted in the anger he cannot seem to suppress. He is caught off guard by what he sees.

One moment, his blood is practically boiling with anger. The next, he is so numb he vaguely wonders if ice now flows through his veins. A shiver tap dances down the curvature of his spine as he stands face to face with Will Stronghold, emotions waging a fierce war within him…


	3. Chapter 2

**Note: **Thanks for the advice. I don't know why, but I am finding it hard to maintain my normal writing style with this story. I shall try to work on the description, however. I am quickly learning that writing an established character is a lot more challenging than writing an original character. And you will have to forgive me, because I am not that good at fighting scenes yet. Hehe, enjoy!

_**Don't own any of them…**_

_**Chapter 2**_

The gym. It had been a turning point in his life, entering the gymnasium of Sky High for the first time. After all, he had spent the entirety of that first day practically hiding behind his best friend, afraid of the inevitable disappointment that was him. You know, he still shudders involuntarily when he smells axle grease. Of course, those memories are nothing more than fading photographs in a weary mind.

Today, he hoped, it would prove a silent sanctuary until it was time for him to attend class. After all, he had some wonderful memories in this god forsaken place as well. Yeah, ok, so they all centered around one brooding bad ass, but that's just a non-issue. In fact, the _**only**_ issue he is even _**remotely**_ concerned with, is his less than enthusiastic desire to see his friends. No, they were the last people he wanted to see… **ever**! And so it is, that just as he is finally comfortable and firmly shut off from the rest of the school, his sanctuary is invaded…

An aura of self-imposed loneliness drapes itself across Will, smothering his normally cheery disposition. He shifts uncomfortably, unable to stand still despite the air of depression that engulfs him. No amount of physical invincibility can save him from the emotional pain he is currently drowning in. (The fact that his powers are currently on the fritz does not help, either.) In fact, the mental pain he is experiencing hurts so much, he can barely breathe… slow, agonizing gasps for breath robbing him of all dignity. Sadly these days… to move is to cry… to breathe is to cry… to live is to cry. Can you imagine that? Your mind, body, and spirit hurting so much, that you lie awake at night sobbing and praying that you will have the courage to end it all? Well, Will can. For eight straight nights, he has had a kitchen knife, and three bottles of pills stashed beneath his pillows.

Warren gapes open mouthed at the boy standing before him, desperately trying to understand what is going on. So unrecognizable is his friend, that it takes him a full minute to understand that the haunted youth before him is Will. Gone are the hidden smile and mirth filled gaze that could cool Warren's fiery temper in mere moments. The boy before him is nothing more than a hollow shell… and though he could never admit it, he is struck by the simple truth of just how beautiful Will has always been. (Still is, even in this defeated appearance.)

A gray hoodie cleaves to the contours of Will's well defined torso… adolescent baby fat long since shed for the tantalizing hint of hard, unyielding muscle. Faded, steel blue eyes that once shimmered with mirth, are now hollow with hidden truths. Will shifts once more, trembling hands lifting to wrap slender digits in the thick cotton hood, forcing the fabric to further shadow the weary planes of his features. How long had they been standing there, contemplating one another in silence? Fingers dart beneath the fabric, pushing a few strands of sun kissed, brown hair out of his eyes.

"Will?" Warren's voice cracks softly as he spits the word from between trembling lips. He cannot even bring himself to address the boy as Stronghold. Will's eyes widen slightly when he is addressed… a human example of a deer caught in headlights. A look of panic that tears at Warren's heart, and leaves him feeling empty contorts the boy's normally gentle features. The phantom that was once the pyrokinetic's best friend turns tail, and runs through the side door of the gym, fear and pain speeding his step. Warren was the last person he wanted to see right now. The older boy had a way of looking right through Will, and discerning his every problem. This was one problem he couldn't let his best friend know about. Because it was the one problem he is sure would lose Warren's friendship forever. Too shocked to move, Warren simply stands there trying to regain his composure while Will gets away.

"Fuck!" Warren's angry snarl reverberates around the empty room, hurling his curse back at him like an angry accusation. Something was obviously very wrong with his friend, and his sudden feeling of helplessness was beyond infuriating. Plus, like an idiot, he'd let Will get away! No amount of new found self control can stop what happens next. With a howl of rage and a painful force, fire ignites, engulfing his arms… flames of brilliant red-orange desperately dancing, trying to devour the cracked leather of his Father's old jacket. (Never succeeding, of course.) With another anguished howl of rage, he begins to launch a fiery assault against the flame resistant gymnasium walls. (After several angry outbursts his first Freshman year, Principal Powers had been forced to flame resist every wall and floor in the school.)

By lunch, Warren finds himself thoroughly depressed, and more surly than usual… each passerby assaulted with a death glare that could evaporate water. In fact, he had gone so far as to power up, just to scare a gaping Freshman out of his way… not even the insane fear upon the young man's features was able to sooth his temper. After all, there was only one person capable of calming him… and that person was currently AWOL. Had Will been with him, rather than off sulking somewhere, Warren never would've done such a thing… that is how tame he seems to have become. Yeah, this day was just going great! He skulks into the cafeteria, all joy he had once found in this place faded into annoyed, impatient displeasure.

He trudges to his normal table, book bag dropping to the long bench with a resonating thud that draws far too many gazes in his direction. However, a deep, threatening growl soon solves that problem. Once seated, he allows his head to fall forward, forehead smacking lightly against the cold table top. The gesture spoke more of Will than Warren… one of the many habits he had picked up from the boy. And now, much to his chagrin, it seemed as if Will had picked up a few of his own trademark actions. (Silent avoidance chief amongst them. )

'What the hell happened in two months to make Will the living dead!?' The question burns painfully through his mind, a perpetual loop of self loathing. After all, he had somehow failed to protect his friend from something major… had left the boy to face something that had radically changed him. 'Maybe he's just tired of me. If I avoid the other's long enough, maybe he'll go back to them, and something good will come of this mess.' He scowls slightly at this thought. Part of him agreed… but, the part that had become **fond **of Will, would have nothing to do with the suggestion.

"Warren? What's wrong? Still no sign of Will!?" Layla's soft, flighty voice grates painfully upon his nerves, drawing him from his morose thoughts. Yeah, this was the last thing he needed. Yet again, Will was the one who most often caused Warren to chill around the others. Not that he didn't like Layla or anything, but she had a habit of not backing off when she needed to. Like now. It seemed obvious to everyone in the cafeteria but her that he needed space. How could the thin line of his lips, and the angry glare of his chocolate colored gaze not speak his agitation loud and clear? 'Maybe she was born blond..' He knows, somewhere deep in the cavern of his mind, that the thought is very unfair. But, he could care less at the moment. He's in a bad mood, and his mind tends to be less than forgiving in such moods. His fight with Will in the cafeteria was a prime example of that. Once anger entered his mind, there is little to no room for anything else. In the end, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out at the girl. He had one friend avoiding him… he really did not need to drive her away as well. 'Plus, you know that this isn't actually her fault, hothead.' The stomach churning taste of coppery blood flows sluggishly across his tongue, forcing him to relax. The tip of his tongue laps at the wound absently while he tries to decide just how much he actually wants to tell her. Not that he understands why, but for some reason, he wants to keep Will's condition to himself. It was hard enough staring at the boy across the room of all their classes, (Will had spent every class with his head done) but he did not need to hear Layla mothering and fussing about him. But, his reply does not matter… because he never gets the chance to address her questions.

"Yo, Warren! You gotta come quick, dude! It's Will!" Zach stumbles clumsily against the lunchroom table, his breath a harsh hiss of pain as he tries to speak. (His words were tainted with the twang of a surfer that has never seen a wave.) Warren is to his feet before he can think straight, nothing more than Will's safety on his mind. He grabs Zach by the shoulder, shoving him roughly back the way he had come. Each time the clumsy, winded boys tumbles, Warren catches him and propels him forward… concern for his best friend causing him to treat the boy a bit harsher than normal. (And once it is over, he will apologize. His friends had become his world, and he was not ready to be cast back onto his one man island of isolation.) When they near the gym, Warren has to forcefully bite back a scream of fear and concern. And once more, he is unable to move… fear cementing him to the spot. He can do little more than stare on in horror, mentally berating himself for being so weak where the younger boy was concerned.

A crowd has gathered around the gymnasium doors, hormones and sweat littering the air with the poignant scent of savage delirium. A well documented school pass time: Watching other students brawl over the silliest reasons. After all, human nature dictated a certain fascination with brutal undertakings. (One does not watch hockey for the sport, but for the disagreements. Football is all about tackling… wrestling about writhing fights.) Warren turns suddenly, a leather clad hand burying itself in the day glow material of Zach's latest neon green shirt, teeth bared in a feral snarl of anger… and, hidden deep within the gesture, fear.

"How the hell did this start, Glowworm!?" Zach's eyes widen slightly, features contorting in alarm, a whimper passing his pallid lips before he can stop it. He knows Warren is friend, not foe, and can be trusted… but old habits die hard. (After all, he spent most of his life fed on the stories of Baron Battle's heinous crimes, and warned that Warren Peace would be no better. The first time he had tried to explain to his parents the niceness of the older boy… well, let's just say it did not go too well. Though they had finally relented, and allowed Zach to continue the friendship.)

"I don't know, Warren! I was walking toward Will, to say hi, when Lorne popped off… I… I think it was something about you. Anyways, Will lost it, and started ranting at him, even threw a punch! Next thing I know, he was kinda just… standing there, and taking it." Zach's words gradually grew in pitch, till he was bear shrieking with concern. Warren let's go, his arms exploding in fire once more… the logical side of his mind shutting down as he launches himself through the massive throng of students. He would kill Lorne, roast the bastard to a cinder for daring to hit the person who had actually saved the Hero world and taken out Royal Pain. In fact, Warren remembers Lorne being one of the infants that Medulla had to revert. His eyes glow with fiery indignation as he shoves past the last student between him and Lorne. He does not let the state Will is in distraction him. A flame engulfed hand shoots out, grabbing Lorne by the throat, and yanking him away from Will. The Senior, who was a water manipulator, yelps as the fire licks across his neck, blistering the skin ruthlessly before he is flying across the room. Students gasp and squeal, trying desperately to move out of the way of the flailing student, who manages to land n his own cronies with a groan.

Warren turns suddenly, his anger only increasing as he stares at his best friend. Will rests slumped against the wall, blood trickling from a busted nose and split lip… tears streaming down his cheeks to pool with crimson, creating streaks of pink gore. One eye is already swelling, blue brilliance dull and faded. It is only when he realizes that Will is bleeding, that realizes something is very, very wrong. His fires fade as his anger instantly extinguishes to be replaced by concern. Despite the gathering of students, he walks forward, and gently takes hold of Will's cheek, trying to suss out the damage.

Will is struck by the earthy, smoky smell of Warren's hands as his warm, surprisingly silken finger tips gently caress across his swollen, maimed cheek. That touch was so comforting.. So gentle, warm, and caring… and it terrifies him. Despite how desperately he wants Warren's hand to remain on the bloody planes of his skin, he dodges to the left, and pushes off the wall. He could not be that close to his friend, no matter how much he wanted to be. Because being that close to Warren would make him speak… would make him reveal the deep dark secrets of his soul. In short, he would tell Warren exactly what was wrong, and lose the boy forever. That simply would not do. So, with eyes barely functioning, and while seeing the world through a thin sheen of crimson, he tries to stumble away from the pyrokinetic. Unfortunately, he does not get far before powerful hands clamp onto his shoulders, forcing him to stand still. Which, for someone who is supposed to be invincible, is quite a feat.

"What the hell is going on, Stronghold? How the hell did that overgrown chunk of ice do this to you? **And why didn't you fight back, you idiot**!?" Slowly, Will turns in Warren's hands, his features expressionless as he watches him silently for a moment. Before the older boy can react, Will's fingers clench into a tight fist, (Just the way Warrant aught him) and connects with Warren's jaw. The taller boys tumbles back with a howl of pain, tears burning his eyes. (Though he would never let them grace his cheeks.) He stares in bewilderment at his friend, blood slowly trickling down his lip, staining his dark skin crimson.

"Fuck off, Warren…"


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **_I want to thank everyone for the wonderful reviews, and I am sorry if I am a bit slow in posting. Hope everyone enjoys the next chapter! _

**Summary: **_Will and Warren come face to face in Detention. Can Will keep his secret from his best friend?_

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_Chapter 3_

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When Principal Powers arrived outside of the gym, Lorne had already fled the scene, leaving Warren and Will to take the fall for a fight that was not completely their fault. Sure, Will had been a factor in it, but it had been Lorne that started it. Principal Powers stands with her arms crossed, eyes sparkling with anger and disappointment. Where Warren was used to her gaze, Will was not. His feet shuffle across the ground in a maddening display of innocence that captures Warren's gaze. How did Will pull it off? Even after punching him, Will was still the epitome of innocence, and Warren feels protective even now. His head spins with emotions, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he watches the boy. Sure, Will's movements may indicate remorse, but those beautiful blue eyes are dull and faded. And no way is Warren even going to review the fact that he has used the word beautiful in any way when thinking of Will… traitorous mind!!

"I thought you two settled your differences last year, Mr. Peace… Stronghold, you will report to Nurse Spex, then join your friend in detention… I assume you don't need directions, Mr. Peace." Warren forces a smile, baring a bit more of his teeth than he had meant, the look coming across as somewhat feral. So much so, in fact, that Principal Powers quirks a single, questioning brow at the youth… who simply sweeps past her in an angry stomp for the detention room.

For a whole hour, Warren is trapped in the blinding white room, desks haphazardly jammed into it, leaving little room for free movement. He sits within the desk he always occupies, his forehead resting against the well worn wood. His mind is a minefield of anger and pain… tension squaring his broad shoulders as he fights against the anger trying to overpower him. Unable to ignite his flames, his temper burns all the hotter, deeper, blinding him to reason. Truly, the only thoughts resonating within his mind… are his desire to roast Lorne alive… and his desperate need to know what is wrong with Will. What could make the kindest, most even tempered person he knows go ballistic like that!? An further more… how had _**his**_ name triggered it all?!

With another surprising growl of frustration, his leather clad hand connects with the top of the desk. Had he been able to access his powers, the wood would be charred and splintered. But, with the detention room nullifying his powers, it is, for now, safe. Just as his hand clenches to pop the top of the desk a second time, the soft whoosh of the detention room doors fills the silence, and his attention snaps upward… waiting… searching…

Will trudges silently into the room, his bag hanging off his shoulder, bouncing off his hip unhindered as he walks. His hood is pulled down around his face, hiding the damage from view. Well, mostly... but Warren can see a patch of stark white peeking forth. His jaw clenches unconsciously, his hands gripped in tight fists. So tight, in fact, that his leather gloves groan protests, dark fingers white with the pressure. His lips that, only moments ago, formed a snarl of rage are now a thin line of suppressed anger. Will, seemingly oblivious to his friend's distress, makes his way to a desk at the far end of the small room, never once casting his gaze toward Warren... because Warren would know.. would look right through him and know... and Will would die if that happened.

"So what, Stronghold... just gonna sit all the way over there now? Not even gonna bother telling me what the hell is going on here!?" His voice steadily increases in volume, until he is screaming in angry frustration. When Will merely allows his head to loll forward, clothed forehead resting against the desk top, Warren's eyes widen, as if the gesture is a slight… an open handed slap to his pride. "You punched me.." All anger drains from Warren, the sentence drenched in far more pain and betrayal than he would like. This, at last, warrants him a glance from Will. When the younger teen finally gazes upward, Warren sucks in a hissed breath... the boy's face is half mangled!

Will's blue eyes are red rimmed, tears slightly blurring his vision of Warren. His left cheek is bruised, a bandage of stark white gauze covering a cut. His lips are swollen, his cupid's bow split in bloody pain. Warren catches himself shivering at the sight, and forces himself to look away... unable to stand the boy like this.

"That bad, huh?" Will croaks bitterly, his voice strained by tears he will not let fall. He lifts a slightly trembling hand, and pulls his hoodie further over his face, the cool shadows hiding the tears that finally grace his cheeks. He presses his nose against the wood of the table top, and exhales a slow, silently shaky breath.

Warren can feel something deep inside him snap, and before he can contemplate what shall happen next, or consider the consequences, he is up, out of his chair, and on his way to Will's seat. His hands take hold of Will's hoodie, dragging him to his feet. The younger teen does not resist the action, merely lets himself be lifted, then slammed unrelentingly into the wall. His eyes widen slightly beneath his hoodie, but no words of protest fall from his swollen lips.

"What the hell is your problem, Stronghold?! Fight back!" His words echo through out the room, the blinding white light seeming to give perfect little Will a halo of innocence... that Warren doesn't believe in for one minute. Something was up with the boy... and he is going to find out, even if it kills him. (Him, of course, not Will.) When Will just looks blankly back at him, Warren roars angrily, and slams him back against the wall, earning a groan of pain from the boy. "What happened to your super strength, Will? Your invincibility? And why won't you just talk to me?!"

Of course, Will could simply open his mouth right now, and spill his guts to Warren... tell his best friend the entire horror story of his summer vacation, but then the story would be over. Besides, there is a slight problem with the situation... Warren's proximity is driving Will bonkers.. fear and faith.. love and hate overwhelming him. He loves Warren, simply for being himself.. and hates him, for always understanding, when Will thinks he deserves to be hated. As the tears continue to stream down his swollen cheeks, salt burning his wounds, he does the only thing his hazy mind allows. He reaches forward, the mere inch and a half length, to press his lips softly into Warren's.

The older teen's hands tighten within the baggy folds of Will's hoodie, unconsciously drawing the boy closer as they kiss. His mind is stuck on the fact that first kisses should not taste of copper and salt... the fact that Will's swollen lips are supple and silken, despite how bruised and bloody. His heart skips somewhere into the vicinity of his throat.. until he realizes just who it is he is kissing... his best friend... who is a guy... who is younger than him. (Yeah, sure, so only by a year, but this is _**so**_ not the moment to try and rely on logic!) He jumps back suddenly, as if he has been burned by Will. The younger teen can feel the tears falling faster now, pain, anger, and rejection fueling the fires of his burning depression. It is music to his ears when the final bell rings only moments later. With his backpack still slung over his shoulder, he manages to dodge past the still stunned Warren, and escape through the detention room doors.

----------

Warren stumbles through his night shift at the Paper Lantern, his ears still ringing from Ms. Liu's angry tirade at his being late for his shift. Will's... whatever he wanted to call it, because he _**so**_ is _**not**_ calling it a kiss, had stunned him so badly, he missed his bus home. Having to catch a lift with Principal Powers was not cool! Not only had the evil old hag given him a lecture about friendship, and learning to control his powers/temper, she had asked repeatedly if he knew what was wrong with Will... his only answer being silence, which sent her into a further lecture of respecting one's Elders, especially when they were trying to impart a little wisdom. It took all of his concentration not to power up and let the fireballs fly... that is how pissed off this whole situation made him.

Not only had Will punched him, but then, when he had simply tried to express concern for him, he had gone off and.. done.. that thing to him... oh Fuck, he _**kissed**_ him.. Will fuckin' Stronghold kissed _**him**_.. and calamity of all calamity.. _**he kissed back**_! The force with which Warren comes to this conclusion causes him to drop a plate of General Tso's chicken and fried rice he was carrying out to a booth for his supper, the resonating echo of shattered ceramic and wet, gloopy food turning his stomach sour for some reason. Or, maybe, it was his little epiphany that was doing it.. at this moment, he cannot tell the difference. Up may as well be down, and good may as well be evil.

"Whoa, Warren, are you ok?" The sound of Layla's voice is really the last thing he wants to hear right now. His jaw hurts, his lip aches, and his temper is already ranging on the explosive side. If she says one thing about the fact that he was about to eat chicken, he might do something he would regret. When he looks up, however, he realizes that the situation is far worse than it seems... not only is Layla standing there, watching him with wide, concerned eyes, but Zach and Magenta are crowded around her, eyes darting all over the place as if they were players in some huge conspiracy plot... out to assassinate the Principal, maybe?

The slight smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth causes Layla's worried expression to morph into one of confusion, a single brow cocked in question. Warren frowns, allowing his customary scowl to take it's rightful place upon his handsome features. Layla reaches up to push a few stray wisps of strawberry blond hair out of her eyes, and Warren's scowl deepens even more.

Shouldn't he find that the least bit cute? Shouldn't it make him want to smile more or something!? Why didn't he think of Layla as pretty? Or Magenta, for that matter? They were the only girls in his clique, and yet, he had never so much as given them a second glance. Hell, Freeze Girl had gotten nothing more than a single dance out of him, while Will and Layla were sharing their sweet, make me barf moment outside of Sky High.

Warren sighs, and bends to begin scooping the remains of his supper up, not bothering to actually say anything to Layla... that might encourage the lot of them to stick around... not something he really wants right now. Because, if Will was getting ready to sever their friendship, like he suspects, then it was better for all of them if they didn't get too attached. Of course, he fears the damage may already be done when Zach bends, and begins to help him clean up. Not even a patented Warren Peace death glare, with flames rippling in his brown eyes, can scare the kid back.

Warren feels his heart give a sickening lurch, and he is not sure if it is indigestion from lack of food... or warm fuzzies from the fact that he has friends that actually care about him. His scowl changes to a begrudging smile, which coaxes a warm, friendly smile from the neon wearing youth. Once he has cleared his mess up, and motioned for them to head out front, he goes into the back to rustle up a few plates.

When he walks out to the small booth the four teens have crammed into, he is not surprised to see a chair pulled up to the side of the table. Apparently they know him rather well, seeing as they understand his displeasure of being squashed against a bunch of sweaty teens… Save the Citizen not withstanding. As he sets a plate of sweet and sour vegetables in front of Layla, hot prawn soup in front of Magenta, more Tso's for him, and finally a plate of teriyaki for Zach, he takes his seat and prepares to dig in. Of course, the endless stares directed at him begin to burn into his mind, taking away all pleasure at the hope of a decent meal.

"Warren… we need to talk about Will." And those seven words managed to ruin any attempt at salvaging his day. No way could he tell Will's ex-girlfriend, and three best friends, that the two of them had shared a wonderfully horrible, bloody and sweet kiss during detention. Well, before he had jumped away from his best friend, in what said best friend probably thought was utter disgust… before best friend ran from the room in tears. The memory digs at Warren, causing him to visibly wince as he tries to thrust the look of rejected pain on Will's face out of his mind. Or, at least, force it to stop taking up the _**whole**_ of his mind, leaving room for little else.

"There's nothing to for me to say, Layla. Will obviously doesn't want to talk about it… so drop it already!"


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **I want to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews, and for their patience with me! I know it has taken me forever to update, but I have been having some personal problems. I will try my best to update sooner this time. So, here it is, Chapter 4!

Also, I realize that this chapter switches perspective through out, but it is necessary for the development of the story. I hope everyone enjoys!

**Warning: **This chapter will involve an attempt at suicide, as well as a rape scene, so be forewarned… if such vivid images are offensive, then do not read. Beyond that, R&R!

**AN2: **_The lyrics are the song Numb, by Linkin Park. I do not own it, or the characters!_

**--------------------**

Chapter 4

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It's just a dream, right? Just some horrible dream that he did not go through… some horror story he heard once on television, and his twisted mind has turned into a nightmare he now lives nightly… it did not… could not have happened to him. Because he is invincible, like his Dad. He is super strong, and could fight back in such a situation, right? Unless, of course, a crisis of the heart… of love, had left him unable to tap into his super powers. Then it would be very real… and very true. And it was… god help him, it was true, it was real… and it was killing him. The same nightmare relived every time his eyes close… the truth of a summer that was meant to be freedom and liberation for a heart broken by unrequited love. But it had become hell… quickly…

"Brad…" the name is whispered sweetly between kiss swollen lips. Breath falling in heady gasps of heat and moisture… desperation to be touched and kissed and loved… all the things the one person he wants could never give him. That is why Brad appeals to him… he has the same hidden charm, and rough exterior as Warren… is quiet, and broody, and so damn sexy!

And oh, how those hands burn, fingers flexing over the hot flesh of Will's excited form! Nails trailing vivid paths down his torso, goose bumps erupting even as he feels himself stiffening with desire. Lips that bruise kiss swollen flesh, teeth that capture lips and tug unrelentingly… coaxing forth moans of passion and pleasure… until everything changes. The shift is so subtle… the move from coaxing caresses to demanding gropes. Nails that had once been soft and teasing, are now ragged and clawing… bruises and deep red welts appearing upon pristine flesh, causing young Will to call out in pain… all pleasure gone from the actions.

"Brad, s-stop.. Damn it, stop it!" His voice is hoarse… trembling with the pain that peppers his bruised, tainted torso… chest and stomach throbbing with the angry welts. His heart beat is no longer wild and free, but tethered to the pain spreading through out him. Lips that had tasted of honey and mint… that had whispered his name like some holy mantra, twist in perverse delight at the pain that shadows the youth's unblemished features.

Fingers begin to rip at the fabric of his pants, forcefully unbuttoning them. And when Will struggles too hard… a fist finds the soft, flushed curve of his jaw, and everything becomes blinding light and twinkling stars as he slumps against the wall he has been pressed to. (At this point of the dream, tears well thick and large, falling down the troubled planes of Will's cheeks. His hands, clutched into white-knuckled fists, bury deep into the pillow he clutches like a shield… a shield that fails to save him each and every night.) One powerful hand forcefully shoves his shoulder against the wall, more pain exploding across his senses as he is brutally forced to do something he does not want to…

He feels it long before he registers it… the probing burn of flesh suddenly thrust, uncaringly hard and deep, into a virginal passage that tears and rips in ragged protest. Sadly, the only comfort awarded young Will… is the blood that fills him, allowing his attacker to slip easier in and out… his strangled cries of pain and loss of innocence drowned out by the sound of a party he never should've attended…

"NO!" The scream is ripped violently from his throat, his body thrashing against an attacker that had been out of his life for almost a month. He shoots bolt upright in bed, his stomach rigged, his body a live wire of emotional pain that thrums unforgiving, deep in his blood… radiating outward until he feels as if he will simply cease to exist. Or maybe… it is that he _**wishes**_ he would simply cease to exist. Because that way… that way, the pain would stop forever, right? If he could break free of the mortal coil, than he would no longer have to remember what Brad did to him… would no longer have to face the fact that he is in love with someone, and cannot tell them what happened… because no matter what happened between him and Warren, he is convinced that the hothead will never hold him in his arms, and make it all right again. And that hurts almost as much as the memories.

Slowly forcing deep, quivering breaths between lips that burn, salt encrusted from his own tears, he reaches up, under his pillow… fingers gently press against a long, round object. The soft clatter of something whispers within the object. Spindly fingers, trembling and pale, wrap around the thing, and pull it free… revealing the mottled brown of a prescription pill bottle. He thrusts the bottle deep into his pajama pocket, and slips off of the bed, heading silently into his bathroom…

"The Commander and Jetstream seem to have their work cut out for them tonight, folks. Four separate attacks, and speaks of seven more to face. Even with back-up on the way, it seems unlikely that the battling duo will be able to save the day anytime soon." Layla sighs softly, a single finger lifting to her mouth, jittering teeth finding a ragged nail and worrying it mercilessly. Even though she and Will are no longer together, she often scans the news for sightings of his parents, unable to help worrying about them. After all, she has known them as Steve and Josie Stronghold almost her entire life! And especially now, with Will's odd behavior… she is sorely tempted to go over there, and check on the irate teen. But no… that is no longer her place… but she knows just who's place it is! With trembling hands, she plucks forth her cell… dialing through it… searching…

Ringing… why the Fuck is my cell phone ringing at midnight?! In fact… who the hell even has my number? Oh, that's right, a full three people… Mum, who has no reason to be calling since we live in the same house! Mama L., who definitely has no reason to call, seeing as she is closed by now… and Will, who apparently wouldn't call me if his life depended on it… not after today. God, I can't believe I kissed him… can't believe I let him run away… jerk city, population one. Ugh, I did _**not**_ just think something like that. Ok, it's official, those damn white hats are getting to me…

"I'm coming, damn it!" As if the inanimate object can here my voice and will stop that damn ringing! Ok, so rational thought, not always my strong point. And definitely not in the middle of the night, after a day like I just had. Why can't people just leave me alone!? _**- Because, you dope.. They used to, and it was killing you… until Stronghold came along and saved you from your isolation… now, if only you could save him…- **_Great… now I'm referring to myself as you… I'm completely sane! Finally, the phone…

"Who the fuck is this, at midnight!?" The snarl that erupts from the cell phone causes Layla to rip the thing away from her ear with a whimper. Hand trembling all the harder, she finally forces the hunk of plastic and wiring back to her ear, her words soft, compared to the irate pulse of Warren's…

"W-Warren.. It's Layla. I know… I shouldn't have this number, but please, h-hear me out.." Why in the world was she suddenly stuttering? She wasn't afraid of Warren, so why does she suddenly feel so… off? Because… she knows that something isn't right. Knows that something is off with Will at this moment, and she desperately needs Warren to get over there…

"Hippie? You're right, you shouldn't have this number. And were he talking to me, I might kill Will for giving it to you! Now what the hell do you want?"

"Don't you ever say that, Warren Peace! Don't you even pretend to threaten Will, you arrogant pain in the ass!" Ok, even Layla has to stop and blink at this sudden outburst… but she can feel the heat building deep in her stomach, and knows that she is not done yet. "This is your fault, you know! All of it! Will Stronghold is so into you, that he can't even see straight, and you walk around ignorant and oblivious. And while I know that your stupidity isn't exactly new or anything, you need to get your head out of your orifice, and get to Will's right now! His parents are gone, and I think something is wrong… but if I tried to help, he'd just push me away… please Warren.." She can feel the tears welling in her eyes.. Can hear the tremble that is thickened by them in her voice. He just had to help... had to! Surely he wouldn't turn his back on his best friend, right? But then, when nothing but endless silence greets her, she begins to doubt if the pyrokinetic actually cares what happens to Will…

"I'm on my way, Layla. I'm sure everything's fine… it'll take me about twenty minutes." The resounding click of his cell phone closing is actually a relief. Who knew that she would ever find relief where the enigmatic hothead was concerned? With a slow, shaky sigh, she closes her own cell and allows herself to fall backward on her bed. Everything was going to be ok now… right? Surely Will would let Warren help… please, let Warren help Will…

The oblong white bodies fall to his hand like little saviors… each pill a silent promise that his pain will soon end… that he will be free of a world he could never bring himself to save… not after what happened. And that was one of the biggest problems… not only that he somehow deems what Brad did to him to be his fault, but that his parents, his Dad especially, will never forgive him for losing his will to be a hero. But after what happened to him… after a horror of the world was made reality for him, how could he possibly believe this shit hole existence worth saving?!

He watches in muted fascination as the pills tumble and dance across his sun kissed palm… a few managing to slip through his fingers and rain musical cadence across the floor as they bounce and roll away. Yes, the instruments of his demise have become music to his tainted ears… and yet, he knows that soon, he will cry… scream, maybe, as the pain crescendos through him. Because he is not going to leave his fate in the 'hands' of a few pills. Now, those are simply to thin his blood… so that, when the cold teeth of the blade find supple flesh, his blood will not clot too quickly and rob him of this final victory. Victory over life.

He extends his form across the bathroom floor, trembling fingers grasping the wayward hopes, and shoving them back into the hand that grips their brothers. He forces himself up, onto his knees, his tear stained eyes half lidded in the anticipation of being free… of finally achieving the liberation that the summer failed to bring. He cups his free hand beneath the sluggish cascade of the faucet… and plops five of the oblong pills onto his tongue, feeling the thick coating already beginning to melt on his fevered tongue. He quickly thrusts his cupped palm against his lips, the water trickling into his mouth… cutting cold paths down his chin and wetting his shirt. He repeats the process several times.. A total of thirty three pills lounging in the acidic contents of his stomach… his shirt front clinging wetly to his broadening chest. He had just begun to pass form childhood to maturity… and now, he would never fully mature. Is that a blessing, or a curse?

Slowly he stands, knees popping aggravated protest at the rough treatment of his tiled bathroom floor. Hands grip the porcelain swell of his sink, steadying himself for a moment before he pads out, into his room. His eyes scan the dancing shadows that are cut by the pale moonlight, looking for something… ah! He walks over to his bedside table, and turns on his radio… pushing the skip button with a certain kind of… reverence as he searches for just the right song… stopping when he hears the soft build of his favorite song.. Lyrics of angst and sadness that fit rather perfectly to the current state of his addled mind…

_**I'm tired of being what you want me to be**_

_**Feeling so faithless lost under the surface**_

_**Don't know what you're expecting of me**_

_**Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes**_

_**(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)**_

_**Every step that I take is another mistake to you**_

_**(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)**_

_**I've become so numb I can't feel you there**_

_**Become so tired so much more aware**_

_**I'm becoming this all I want to do**_

_**Is be more like me and be less like you**_

He shivers slightly as the words wash over his fevered senses, the truth of them causing a short, desperate bark of laughter fall from twisted lips of sadness. Yes, he was tired of the prospect of following in the Commander and Jetstreams' shoes. Tired of the impossible amount of responsibility that has been settled, against his will, upon his shoulders. There is that word again… will… strange that he should share a name with the one thing he has never been afforded… a will of his own. Since birth, every decision has been carefully cultivated for him, keeping his path in life from being his own decision. But not anymore… oh no. He has finally found the courage to take control over his life… and end it.

_**Can't you see that you're smothering me**_

_**Holding too tightly afraid to lose control**_

_**Cause everything that you thought I would be**_

_**Has fallen apart right in front of you**_

_**(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)**_

_**Every step that I take is another mistake to you**_

_**(Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow)**_

_**And every second I waste is more than I can take**_

People, especially teenagers, so often romanticize the decision to commit suicide. They speak of the hopelessness, and the decision to carefully write out a suicide note, and explain why they are doing what they are doing… working out every minute detail to make sure that everything goes right. But, that is bullshit. If you are taking all of that time, thinking that clearly, than you are wanting to be caught… you want to be rescued from the plan you have so carefully laid out. Most suicides that are successful… are spur of the moment decisions, because the pain is just too damn much to take any longer.

But occasionally, you get someone like Will… he has wanted to do this for over a month, but has never found the courage… or maybe he just had not faced the pain long enough to lose that last shred of hope until now. Though, in truth, he could pinpoint the exact thing that has given him the little bit of strength he needs to do this: The kiss. The reaction on Warren's face when they shared their first kiss of copper and desperation. He slides a hand beneath his mattress, retrieving a long, serrated blade. Why had he chosen a blade with teeth? Well, because… he is hoping that it will force him to feel… yes, it is more pain, and the very reason he is doing this is because he is tired of the pain. But this will be a different kind of pain, it will be pained that **-he-** controls… and that is the big difference.

_**I've become so numb I can't feel you there**_

_**Become so tired so much more aware**_

_**I'm becoming this all I want to do**_

_**Is be more like me and be less like you**_

_**And I know**_

_**I may end up failing too**_

_**But I know**_

_**You were just like me with someone disappointed in you**_

He failed them all… himself, his parents… his friends. And Warren… especially Warren. He failed his best friend by trying to take that next step that was not his to take. But that is ok… because it will be over soon. He settles back on the bed, his eyes closing as he raises the knife… already he can feel the medicine entering his system… forcing neurons to fire and escalating the sense of… euphoria that is a mask for the death his body is slowly suffering. Slowly, very slowly, he presses the glinting metal to his wrist, the teeth of the blade sinking into the supple swell of his flesh, right across the vein. Most people assume you pull the blade left to right… but no. That will open a single, thin. He takes a slow, deep breath, and rips the blade down his wrist, down the length of the pulsing blue vein.

Even as the thick, viscous fluid begins to well up, painting pristine flesh macabre shades of crimson, the pain is not immediate. It must fight through shock, as well as the effects of the pills, before it can register on his mind. Which gives him time to switch the knife to his other wrist, and rip the bloody blade down his skin again. This time, there is the faintest whimper as the blade falls, useless, from his hand… he watches in silent, morbid fascination as the blood tumbles end over end through the air, plummeting to the floor. He can feel the acid of his stomach churning in a not too idle threat of regurgitation, when he sees a few streams of his blood splatter the carpet of his floor… the wayward testament to his pain. Tears begin to cascade down his cheeks, eyes closing in acceptance of the fate he has chosen for himself.

_**I've become so numb I can't feel you there**_

_**Become so tired so much more aware**_

_**I'm becoming this all I want to do**_

_**Is be more like me and be less like you**_

_**I've become so numb I can't feel you there**_

_**I'm tired of being what you want me to be**_

_**I've become so numb I can't feel you there**_

_**I'm tired of being what you want me to be**_

Warren does not bother stopping at Layla's, despite the fact that she is the one that called him. What good would it do? She would simply cry and simper, and make him uncomfortable… or, she might berate him again for something that is not his fault! No matter what she says, or how she tries to pin the blame on him, it is not his fault that Will is acting this way. If the teen had had some kind of problem with him… or I guess it would be a lack thereof… then he should have come to him. That is what best friends do. He has been isolated for the most of his life, but even he knows that! He stares up at the window that opens into Will's room… he sighs softly, the sound nothing more than a whisper of breath passing parted lips. How often had he climbed this wall, and snuck in through that window, when he needed a place to crash? Now it seems almost wrong, heading up the wall to invade the room of the boy he had kissed. Because by this point, there is no denying he had kissed Will back… had sought those lips once they were pressed against his own.

Slowly, he takes hold of the shingled roof, hauling himself gracefully up and over the side of the low roof, having done this often enough to have practically made it an art form! Once he is on the rough, he removes his gloves and throws them to the shingles, moving toward Will's window. For the first time since befriending the youngest Stronghold, he is shocked to find the window not only closed… but locked. For some reason, that wounds him… tears at his heart, because it feels almost like a personal slight. After all, though Layla would often meet the teen on the roof, she was never invited in through this window… Warren's window. So that means… the window was purposefully locked… against him. He can feel tears prickle the backs of his eyes, but for now he blinks them back, cupping his heads against the window to gaze inward. The sight that greets him… rips a feral scream of fear from his lips…

"**WILL!!"**


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Thanks, everyone, for your inspiring reviews and wonderful patience with me. I know I've not been updating lately and I'm sorry, but I have been having some personal problems, as well as some net problems. But, here it is, the long awaited Chapter 5. I hope everyone enjoys!!

**--------------------**

Chapter 5

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The sheets twist about him as his form writhes in testament to an agony that is both liberating and damning all at the same time. He had suffered so much pain over the last few weeks, and now, he was adding a new form of pain to his experience… a death of his own choosing. He refuses to be killed in 'glorious' combat as his Grandfather had been… as his Father and Mother would be. No, there was no glory in fighting to protect a race capable of such horrors against one another. And he would be damned if he grew up to carry on the legacy of The Commander and Jetstream.

"**Remember, kiddies… down the road, not across the street…" **

The words are hiccupped laughter, the saying something he remembers reading on an Emo site a few days ago… it had been morbidly funny then… but now? Well now he finds it the very height of hilarious, given his current situation. And he had made sure that he followed that bit of advice… walk down the road of veins, don't just cross the fleshy street. Apparently, it had worked… or, at least, -was- working. He could see the pool of crimson liquid cascading across his white sheets, watched with a sort of… detached interest as pristine white soaked up macabre red.

The spreading copper scent was churning his stomach, threatening to make him spill the contents of dissolved medication across his once immaculate floor. Idly, he wonders what that would look like… vile colors of yellow and brown streaked against the bloody reds and pinks that dapple his floor… a Van Gough portrait of pain, degradation, and liberation… surreal colors displaying all the emotion that words cannot express.

He tries to lift a hand, tries to rub spindly fingers across his cheeks, but the arm is too weak to budge. He almost whimpers when he manages little more than a single twitch of his fingertips, and yet… had this not been the exact thing he wanted? To move no more… to be without feeling, care, or worry… then why could he feel panic eating away at his mind, forcing hysterical breaths to bubble from his slackened lips? He was panting, desperately trying to take in breath after breath… feeling the heady dizziness that comes with gulped air that barely has time to make the full circulation before you expel it in favor of another desperately gulped breath. If he so fully wants death, why is he clinging to life? He tries to ball his cold fingers into a fist, wanting to punch the pillow that had failed to shield him from the dreams that finally drove him over the edge… but again, he doesn't have the strength. Pills, combined with blood loss, has left him cold, numb, and unresponsive. Again… these were all states he wanted to be left in… right?!

"**WILL!!" **

The explosive scream of his name is enough to drag him partially back into this world, his blurry blue eyes fluttering, gaze shuddering as he tries, painfully, to put some visual form to the verbal cry of concern. He can see the dark shadows of night that have invaded his room while he was slipping in and out of consciousness, his internal clock rewired by the medication that travels slowly through his blood stream… a false feeling of euphoria masking the death of his neurons as they fire rapidly, explosions of light and sound rushing his senses and leaving him dizzy and confused. His eyes sparkled like iridescent waves of diamond dust, his vision refusing, for the moment, to actually lock on the source of that concerned voice.

"Will… Come on, Stronghold… you better still be breathing, or I swear I'll roast your ass!"

An idle threat if ever Will had heard one, but his mouth feels too much like raw bundles of cotton for him to make this dry observation vocally. In truth, Will has no idea who is trying to summon him back from the bright light until he hears that single word… Stronghold. There was only one person in all of this messed up world that could say his name with -that- much ire… no matter how affectionate it was: Warren Peace.

"G'wy, Wr'en.."

The words are a jumbled, slurred mess, but it does not take a rocket scientist to know what Will is trying to say: Go away, Warren. Right, because there is any power within this 'verse that could make Warren change his mind when it is made up? Not even the great Will Stronghold could make the hothead angry enough to turn and leave such a situation unattended… not after everything that had, and hadn't, happened between them. After all, it would be far too kind of the bad tempered Pyrokinetic to let perfect little Stronghold kiss him, and then leave this world before he could -explain-. No, Will at least owed him some explanation for why he had kissed him and then fled like a bat out of hell. Was kissing him really so… so… _**terrible**_?! And right now, really -not- the time to stop and think about that, otherwise Will -would- get away without an explanation. And dress it up however he wants, Warren simply can't envision this world without the annoying little Prat. Scratch that… -HIS- annoying little Prat. There, he may not have said the words out loud, but at least he has shattered the barrier that kept him from even _**thinking**_ them.

The window was stubborn, the lock wasn't wanting to budge, and no matter how much he wants to utilize his flame… fire and wood, no matter what the reason, never a good match. In fact, when he feels his palms growing itchy and hot in response to his frustration, he has to force his hands away from the window. He couldn't risk igniting the old wood and creating even more trouble for what is already a risky situation. So, what happens when one cannot use their only special ability to save someone they care about? Let's just say… thank God for combat boots.

Warren lays himself flat on his back on the roof, his gloveless hands pressed flat against his eyes. He takes a deep, trembling breath, and with all the force he can muster, which is quite a lot, he kicks forward with the heel of both boots, the almost musical lilt of shattering glass even more beautiful than the greatest Symphony at the moment… because it means a way in… a way to save his best friend, his-

"Stronghold!"

The word is hoarse, thick as it is jettisoned from lips that twist, quirking and trembling as emotions claw at his cool façade. And yes, the hotheaded, quick tempered Pyrokinetic had a -cool- façade. It was the only thing that managed to save him from all of the dopey eyed emotion mongers that seemed to think it their civic duty to bring the resident delinquent out of his stunted shell. He watches the last glittering piece of glass fall to the roof top, and without worrying over the damage, he reaches down to scrape his palms across his abdomen, feeling glass bite and knick his skin as they teeter precariously, then fall off his prone form. He forces himself to his feet, fighting a wince of pain when he applies too much pressure to his left foot, the ankle twisted in a faint, painful sprain that means nothing when compared to what he perceives to be a sea of blood surrounding his best friend's form. After all, when tragedy strikes, the naked human eye tends to over analyze a situation, making it worse than it actually is. But then… what could be worse than death?

"G'wy, Wr'en.. Sheepy.."

Ok, that slurred, uncaring tone was -really- starting to grate Warren's nerves… tearing at nerve endings that were raw and enflamed with anger, concern, and that dreaded four letter word he promised himself at the age of 5 that he would never use again… fear. Fear was for weaklings like his Father, who had clung to that emotion until he was paranoid and desperate… until he went on a killing spree that landed him in solitary for the rest of his life… quadruple his life, actually. So, it was an emotion Warren swore off at a very young age… … leave it to Will 'Fucking' Stronghold to bring that emotion roaring back ten fold to haunt him.

"Not gonna go away, you ignorant fool! In fact, when I get to you, I'm going to pommel you stupid, roast you… and for good measure.. Maybe even kiss you."

Ok, that was said for shock value… right? Actually, no… he is deadly serious. Well, about the kiss at least. If he was able to save the idiot, then he would likely plant a nice, hard kiss on his lips. And then promptly throw himself off some nice, high ledge… maybe even off the side of Sky High itself! But first, he has to get Will out of this predicament… kissing could, maybe, come later.

He is concentrating so hard to get across the room, that he almost misses Will's death rattle… realizing that the throaty, pained sound is actually a laugh. The little bastard lays dying, and has the guts, even now, to laugh at -him-!? Just a few months ago, this wouldn't have happened. A few months ago, a single look from the hothead, and Will would've been more than ready to bolt in the other direction. And now… he's laughing… at Warren Peace.

"N't gon'a hap'n, W'ren."

Not gonna happen, Warren. Oh, that's just what that pampered pompous ass little prat thinks! Wait… did that mean that Will was really -that- against the thought of Warren kissing him? It was like a slap in the face, and it hurt more than Warren would ever be able to admit, verbally or otherwise. But his feelings, at the moment, are not what matters.

He kneels at the side of the bed, biting back a groan of disgust when the rips in his faded jeans lets the thick, warm syrup of blood flood across his bare knees. In that moment, it all becomes far too real… the fact that he is watching his best friend die in front of him. He rips his favored shirt off, the sound of tearing fabric far too loud in the eerie silence of the bedroom. He wraps a strand of cloth tightly around each wrist, binding them as best he can… but it does not take a genius to know… that the damage is already done. With a sense of overwhelming dread, and the terrible feeling of impending doom, he realizes that he is watching his best friend leave him… forever.

"W'ren… 'm s'r'y… for… kis..si..ng… you…"

He almost gasps at those words… Will, apologizing… for kissing him? So, the teen did regret it. What could be so horrible about kissing him? Why was the prospect of he, Warren Peace, so disgusting to the youth…!? This time, when he feels the tears burning the back of his chocolate colored eyes, he would not fight the disgrace of allowing them to fall. Tawny lashes tumble closed, colliding almost violently in his desperation to close his eyes, to cut off the vision of Will bleeding and disgusted. (At least, Warren -thinks- he sees disgust in those beautiful, pallid features.) Slowly, the tears cascade down his dark cheeks, glittering like diamond dust in the moonlight as Warren finally allows himself to simply… break. The shimmering waterfall of bitter salt begins to pepper Will's flesh, gently dappling jaws… chin… cheeks… nose. And for the life of him, Will cannot understand why it is raining inside of his room.

The revelation that the moisture cascading across his features is Warren Peace's tears is enough to rip a pained whimper from his pale lips. Warren Peace… WARREN PEACE… was crying..? Over… him…? He whimpers again… and again… and again, until Warren is forced to open his eyes and look down into the slack features of his best friend. Will whimpers once more, and after a moments hesitation, Warren leans down, almost touching Will's features, trying to figure out what it is the boy wants… desperate to do whatever is necessary to make Will's passing… easier. Because at this moment, he knows that he is little more than a failure… he has let his best friend, the one that he cares about above everyone and everything else… die. Sure, Will is still breathing, his chest struggling to rise and fall… but there was nothing Warren could do to save him. He could not fly, could not heal… he was useless… he has failed. And there is a thought already forming in the back of his mind… a thought so chilling that for one horrible moment he thinks that his flames will die away. He realizes, as he hovers so close over Will's pale features that the moment Will takes his final breath… Warren will breathe his last as well. He will take Will Stronghold into his arms and give them a magnificent funeral pyre… proper Romeo and Juliet style.

"W'ren… I.. I.."

The words catch in his cotton dry throat, refusing to emerge, no matter how hard Will tries to force them free. He knows it is a Fool's Folly to seek to speak the words that would condemn his memory in Warren's eyes, but he cannot help it. with the cold breath of death breathing down his neck, he knows that he must speak now… or forever hold his peace. Strange how those words can be used at the beginning of a life together… and the ending as well.

"What, Will…? What is it, Stronghold… tell me… please."

Will's arid lips part but he cannot bring himself to speak, too shocked at the sound of Warren begging for him to do that very thing… speak. Warren begged for nothing… no one… and yet, he begs now for Will to make his words known. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn't he have simply slipped free of the mortal coil and made life easier for everyone?

"W'ren.. I lo.."

A sudden spasm seizes the poor boy, a cough ripping through him, air whooshing free in a grotesque sound that rattles his ribcage and leaves him with more color than Warren would actually like to see. The sudden crimson cast to the boys neck, accompanied by the corded muscle on his slender neck standing out, is enough to make Warren's tears cascade quicker down the mocha colored planes of his cheeks. A single, morbid thought plagues him, and he does not have the strength to push it away: Will would soon die, and he would chase swiftly upon his clumsy heels.

Before Warren can finish the thought, before he can plan just how he will extinguish the spark of his life force… Will leans up. And for the second time in twenty four hours, Will Stronghold's lips are brushing against Warren Peace's. This time, the kiss does not taste of coppery blood, and yet… it is just as heartbreakingly wrong. Will was hovering on the cusp of death, and kissing him. If he somehow, miraculously lived through this again, would he utter further regret for his actions? Warren's heart wouldn't be able to stand such a break again.

"Will… please… don't die. Don't do this to me. You can't… can't keep kissing me, and then just… leave. I can't take it, Stronghold… I just can't."

Will whimpers faintly, unable to believe that such words are spilling from the silken, smoky lips of the older male he had come to love so very much. And then it dawns on him… Warren is giving up. Not only on him, no… but on himself as well. He tries to reach up, tries to touch Warren's cheek, but his limbs will not respond. He can't even feel the binding cloth that staunches the flow of bed. This wasn't fair… wasn't right. He should be able to reach up and touch Warren's cheek, to wrap his arms around the year older boy and hug him close. Instead, he can barely manage a pathetic twitch of his fingers.

"So..ry… W'ren… tim…e… to… le..a..ve.."

"Will… WILL!!?"

The scream is almost deafening to the dying teen as his thick, sooty lashes flutter closed. A single breath tears through his chest, issued from his parted lips with little more than a whimper. They say the world will not end with a bang… but with a whimper. So why, then, does a loud, ferocious bang explode around Will, light cascading across his form? One moment, he is cold, numb… the clammy hand of death wrapped tightly around his throat… the next he feels as if he is on fire… burning from the inside out, the brilliant white light touching some deep, dark instinct that wants to -live-!

-----------------------------------------

Will sits bolt upright, a silent scream issued. His lips are willing tow twist and form the horrid, blood curdling sound… but his vocal chords will not oblige. A single, weak squeak is ripped from him as he begins to search the room frantically. He should be dead… he should be particles in space or some haloed, robe wearing spirit… he should -not- be forcing frantic breaths between lips cracked and dry… should not feel as if every nerve ending in his body is on fire with such hot, lively feelings! He takes a slow, deep breath, his eyes like sandpaper, begin to scan the room. He was desperate to know what had happened… desperate to know if Warren had responded to that kiss… if he had actually -heard- right, that Warren had -begged- him not to leave.

"Warren… Warren..!?"

He calls, his voice trembling, wavering with motion and unshed tears. He can feel that something is wrong, not that he could actually tell what. All he knows is that he feels as if he'll be sick at any more, lightheaded and dizzy… trembling from cold despite how absolutely warm he feels through and through.

"WARREN!?"

He screams the word, and yet… there is still no reaction. His breath hitches within his throat, burning and acidic as he fights to remain calm. He slides across the bed, forcing his feet to fall to the floor, gasping in disgusted surprise at the cold, congealed blood that awaits him. He almost vomits when he begins to relate that cold, syrupy feeling to run his feet through cold jello. The teen claims his feet with a shaky uncertainty, his bulky build swaying, a proverbial house of cards ready to come tumbling down if he cannot find his lifeline once more.

Unfortunately, the exhausted teen does not have to go far. One moment, he is stumbling across the floor, the very Earth seeming to tilt and sway beneath his feet. The next, his toes connect with something solid, sending him sprawling across the floor. A thick, painful thud announces his magnificent face plant, the wind knocked painfully from his lungs. He fears, for a moment, gasping and quaking, that he will not be able to regain his breath… that that final tidal breath of putrid, reserve air would be expelled, and he would asphyxiate. Of course, it would serve him right, dying such a painful, traumatic death after trying so stupidly to end his life. His pain and suffering have no changed… the event that led him to such a rock bottom state is no less real now than it was hours ago. But now, he has a single shining hope… a -reason- to continue through this painful journey of life, and hopefully down the path of recovery: Warren Peace.

But again, in the short amount of time it takes him to manage a full, aching breath, his world is shattered into a million shards of glittering glass. The reason he had tripped is because his foot collided with the prone form of his best friend. The hotheaded pyrokinetic is laying face down on the floor by his bedroom door, limbs twisted in awkward angles of discomfort, his face buried against the carpeted floor. He won't scream… he won't cry… he refuses to. Warren was fine… has to be fine. Because Warren couldn't beg for him to stay, couldn't kiss back and then just leave him. He couldn't.

"Wren… Warren… please. Talk to me… say something… breathe!"

The last word is an agonizing scream… crystal tears fat and bitter wetting his cheeks… mixing with the dried salt of Warren's tears in a macabre circle of completion. With trembling fingers he reaches down, gripping Warren's leather clad shoulder, turning the boy with ease… his super strength having returned.

Warren rolls onto his back with no resistance, his handsome features a mask of utter serenity. Will has never seen him look so calm… so peaceful. No hint of anger or social malaise contorting his animated features. For one moment, Will is able to convince himself that Warren is just sleeping… that those Angelic features will brighten at any moment and the fiery teen will follow through with his threat. After almost half a minute, he begins to panic. Warren's chest is barely moving… his breath so shallow he is not sure he can actually -see- the male breathing at all!

"Warren… please… you can't leave me… please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… Wren… Warren!"


	7. I'm Back!

_Well everybody, after life has dealt me a lot of painful twists and turns, I'm finally back! Please forgive me my absence, and know that if things hadn't gotten as dark and bad as they had, I would've finished this long ago._

_For those of you who may still be following this, thank you! I am sorry for how long it has taken._

_Now, a sneak peek at what is to come!_

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

"Be not afraid of growing slowly, be afraid only of standing still."

I still remember the first time my old boss told me that Proverb from her homeland. At the time, I couldn't tell you the meaning of the sage words, but now, looking back, I think it's about death. You should not fear life moving too slow, but instead, you should be grateful that you're not dead. Because believe me, it sucks.

My name is Warren Peace, the son of a villain and a hero ... and this is the story of how I died. Don't get all weepy eyed and sad, or anything like that, death isn't worthy of your tears. Because the dead cannot weep, and they can't feel or see your tears, so don't bother. Besides, I had a good life. I had some really good friends, and a great person who loved me, or at least, I think he did. So, this is the story of how I died. Just remember one thing; for better or for worse, I am Baron Battles son ... the son of a villain.

* * *

_And that is the sneak peek at the final chapter of Hold On! *grins* As one might expect, there are likely to be some sad moments, some twists and turns, and hopefully, though I am a little rusty in my writing, it will still be enjoyable!_


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